


Late for a Very Important Date

by theSapphireSky



Series: The Detective and the Pathologist [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Wedding Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or 'Sapphire celebrates one year of fan fiction writing!'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late for a Very Important Date

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fluffy little story for all you wonderful Sherlollians who have kept me going this past year as I’ve delved into the world of writing fanfiction! Thank you.

‘We’re almost an hour late, John! Hurry up!’ The moment John brought the taxi they had commandeered to a sudden and screeching halt, Sherlock jumped out, John on his heels. He glanced up as they began running, only to freeze in horror at the man sprinting across the car park toward them, murder in his eyes.

‘Vatican Cameos, John!’ Sherlock cried out and hastily pushed John back toward the safety of the car, securing the locks for good measure.

‘William Sherlock Scott Holmes!’ Mycroft’s normal cool composure was gone as he thundered across the car park, bellowing all the while. Sherlock knew he could easily overpower Mycroft, but he was currently sporting several bruised ribs and his head throbbed from the seven sutures John had stitched across the cut in his forehead.

The British Government was on the warpath and he slammed his hands on the window, his eyes alight with the icy fire that toppled nations. ‘Get. Out. Of. The. Car,’ he bit out. ‘Now!’

‘I rather think not, brother dear,’ Sherlock replied. ‘Molly prefers me in one piece.’

‘You are late, covered in what appears to be the blood of three different men, and should probably have those ribs bandaged,’ Mycroft growled. ‘I should be the least of your worries when Molly does get ahold of you and finds out you took that case yesterday when she asked you not to.’

Sherlock swallowed thickly.

‘Now, are you going to come willingly, or do I send out the security detail to break the window and drag you out?’ Mycroft threatened and stood back. ‘Might I remind you that the photographers would be delighted to have evidence of the Great Sherlock Holmes being dragged into his own wedding. Molly, though, will be less than thrilled. Especially after you’ve already left her waiting for 43 minutes…’

Sherlock scrambled to pull the lock up and threw himself from the car. But his beeline for the church, and his bride, was briefly impeded by Mycroft’s fist connecting with his face.

‘Son of a-!’ Sherlock exclaimed, clutching his eye. ‘Bloody Hell, Mycroft!’

John shot Mycroft a practiced glare before tugging Sherlock toward the church. ‘Just add it to the list of injuries we can address after you say ‘I do’.’

Mycroft stalked after them, rubbing his sore knuckles and hiding his sigh of relief that they had eventually made it. Molly had been relatively calm, but her cool had been breaking as the hour progressed and no one could reach John or Sherlock. He was rather fond of his sister-in-law-to-be and giving Sherlock a black eye for nearly standing her up was only a small justice.

* * *

  
Molly paced back and forth, the skirt of her white dress  _swishing_  each time she turned about. Her bottom lip was nearly raw from gnawing on it and she was fast losing hope. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry about Sherlock sneaking out the night before on a last-minute case or worried about him being missing. For now, she settled on the latter.   


‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ Mary assured her. The Matron of Honor was trying to be the rock for them both, but with her husband also missing, she was in the same state as Molly.

Molly barely acknowledged her tries at reassurance, moving on to twisting the folds of her dress in anxiety. Their increasingly melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a clamoring out in the hall. Mary stood and went to look out, her entire body sagging in relief when she saw Sherlock and John rushing about.

‘Ah, it appears our boys have arrived, though in far worse condition than when we left them.’

Relief flooded her body. He was okay. He was alive.

And he was late.

Molly gathered her voluminous skirts and marched out the door, letting her anger loose.

‘Molly, he can’t see you before the ceremony! It’s bad luck!’ Mary cried out and tried to block Molly’s way.

‘I don’t give a damn about superstition,’ the bride replied and pushed past, zeroing in on her husband-to-be. His back was to her as his father and John tried to put his rumpled appearance to rights. With each step she took, she more clearly saw the damage her husband was trying to cover and felt her anger begin to fade into horror.

John noticed her first, over Sherlock’s shoulder, and nudged his friend. Sherlock turned around in surprise and Molly gasped at his face, her heart dropping. Dirt covered and sweaty, he had a long cut above his left eyebrow that looked to have been hastily sutured and his right eye was beginning to show signs of swelling. Dropping her skirts, she raced the last few feet and launched herself into his arms, uncaring of the dirt and blood on his clothes against her white dress. He caught her with one arm, keeping the other tight across his torso, and let out an  _oomph_  when she collided with him.

Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffled against his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

He pressed his face into the curve of her neck. ‘I am now.’

‘W-what happened?’ She pulled back and cupped his cheeks, examining the injuries he’d sustained and noting the way he held his ribs.

‘Just some overeager drug lords looking for a new home base in London. Nothing to worry about,’ he reassured her. Smiling smugly, he added, ‘Well, not anymore. Their injuries were much more substantial, if I do say so myself.’

Molly’s eyes hardened and she stiffened in his arms.

‘Oi, mate,’ John interrupted. ‘Not the time to be an arrogant prick.’

‘Ah, right.’ Sherlock’s smirk softened to a sheepish grin and he turned on the puppy dog eyes as he looked down at his unamused bride. ‘Forgive me for being a bit tardy? And for sneaking out to take a case after you asked me not to?’

Molly breathed in deeply and tugged him down to face level. ‘Yes. But you’d better make the rest of our lives worth it.’

‘I certainly intend to.’ Sherlock chuckled, his smile pained as his ribs protested the action.

With a kiss to his cheek, she stepped away with a smile. ‘Go get cleaned up so we can move this wedding along.’

He pouted and followed her. ‘Don’t I even get a proper Glad You’re Not Dead kiss first?’

‘Nope. If you’d been on time, we would already be married and sneaking away for some ‘alone time’ in the nearest closet,’ she quipped cheekily. ‘Suffer.’

Sherlock groaned as he watched her sashay away, the back of her dress dipping to her mid-back and her hair piled high on her head, giving him a delightful view of the sensuous curve of her neck.

The door clicked shut behind her and he whirled about to the gaping onlookers, furiously rubbing the dirt from his face. ‘Get me another suit.  _Now_.’


End file.
